Nightmares
by ShootingforWishingStars
Summary: "I like surprises, you see—always loved them as a child—and I think the Games should have surprises. But as you could tell Mr. President, I have a strong belief that one—man or woman—should have the courage to stand up to their fears." Let the fears come and nightmares emit for the 474th Hunger Games are coming soon. ***SYOT OPEN***.
1. Notorious at Best

_Nightmares_

_I do not own the Hunger Games_

_Chapter 1: Notorious at Best_

* * *

**"I may seem like it, but I am not, sir. Nor am I good, nor am I evil. For sir, I am notorious."**

* * *

**Atticus Gracchus – Head Gamemaker**

"And you have the _nerve_ to come up to me to say that _you don't have the arena_?" President Jackson Baudin's tone rises as his steak knife whizzes past his new Head Gamemaker's head, "do you think of me as some kind of fool Mr. Gracchus?" Without a flinch, Atticus yanks the knife from the closed mahogany door and admires it with such thoughts. He twirls it around with his graceful fingers as he heads towards President Baudin.

With a sly, sadistic smile, Atticus drops the knife onto President Baudin's newly polished marble desk. He then pulls up a chair and plops down on it, feet upon the desk and hands caressing the back of his head. "I'm not interested in any of your shenanigans, kid. I didn't pick you to be the Head for this year's Games for nothing!" the President rants Atticus rolls his coffee brown eyes. It wasn't that he was bored out of his mind or knows the drill, no, no that wasn't it, at all.

It was the two of the things combined.

For Pete's sake, he knows the process like the back of his hand. After all, he was the Victor from the four hundred-sixty-eighth Hunger Games, alias the shortest and bloodiest one out of all the past ones. Sure, he was only twenty-two and had a lot to learn, but did that have to do with anything? Last time he checked, the box was marked under 'no'.

"I have everything under control," Atticus smoothly assures Baudin as he gets up from his seat taking the knife in his right palm. Again, he twirls it in his fingers. "You're making me sound like some retarded dumbfuck."

Baudin takes in a deep gulp and scrunches his nose. "You haven't even given me the plans, yet. How do I know that you're still the best candidate for this position?" the President interrogates as he sticks his right index finger in between Atticus's cold, uncaring eyes.

Atticus chuckles with pleasure. With the raise of his eyebrow Baudin asks, "What's so humorous?" The Head Gamemaker flashes one of his winning smiles and shoves the steak knife in front of the President. To his luck, Baudin didn't get stabbed or even given the slightest cut. He gulps hard in front of the estranged Victor (or Gamemaker, in this case). Then, Atticus walks over to the one-wall window, admiring the skyline in the process. This time, he smirks—not smile—for smiling is too overrated.

"Your anger mixed in with your deep fascination for curiosity, that's what's so humorous," Atticus starts as continues to gaze from the window.

"You see, Mr. President, I've been known for my tricks. Tricks upon my hidden so no shall see what I've got in store. I like surprises, you see—always loved them as a child—and I think the Games should have surprises. But as you could tell Mr. President, I have a strong belief that one—man or woman—should have the courage to stand up to their fears. Unlike most, I enjoy fears, nightmares, and darkness, yet I also love surprises. That is why Mr. President, I have to ask: what is _your_ greatest fear? Would it be a pleasant surprise that you'd be likely to expect? Or would it be too much for you to handle?

"In my personal opinion, Mr. President, the Hunger Games were made to teach people a firm lesson. It's not a terrible thing at all; people in the Districts only make it out to their children as a fear—a nightmare. People in the Districts have no sense of compassion for learning. Whether it's to tell them that nothing lasts forever or that karma really is a damn son of a bitch, the Games really are teaching people that not everything is fair," Atticus finishes with a smack of his lips.

With that, Baudin pauses to admire Atticus's speech. His silent applause rings through Atticus's head like a bell that rings. He rips his attention from the skyline and faces Baudin, his smirk still sitting on his face. Baudin slowly walks over as if the Head's dazzling smirk is like a magnet to his cheap metal gaze. "I suppose you're right, Mr. Gracchus," Baudin says.

"It almost seems as if _I'm _the superior, Mr. President," Atticus adds in as Baudin snaps back to reality, "like you're the inferior peasant wanting—pleading—for a loaf of bread."

Baudin gives out a heavy cough, clears his throat, and asks, "Mr. Gracchus?"

"Yes, sir?"

"I expect to see the arena by the fifteenth, don't disappoint me."

Baudin didn't hear his reply and looked at the door, only to witness Atticus Gracchus walking down the white hallway in complete utter silence.

* * *

**Reason to How the Games Continued**

The Seventy-fourth Hunger Games, both Peeta Mellark and Katniss Everdeen won, leaving a trail of suspicion behind them. Some believed in their "lover's" fiasco, but some didn't believe it was too credible. For them, it seemed more of a _fairytale_ rather than reality. Despite all the interviews they've been in, the answers were all the same: we are in love.

Some gave up and went on with their lives, thinking that they really did reciprocate the feelings. Apparently, that wasn't the case for it remained unrequited with only one side functioning.

Then, the Games came. That's when things got rough:

The Quell came around and knocked everything down. A majority of the people went with the plan of the rebellion. Yet, no one expected that a certain flame brought down Girl on Fire. She burned, and that's when the real idea of the Games began to be the first priority of all.

Then, the "Final Two" showdown began with the heartbroken Peeta Mellark and the enraged Finnick Odair. It all ended with a boom as soon as the golden trident entered through the baker's chest as he pleads to the Two-time Victor, Finnick Odair, to _end his life_. After all, he didn't feel as if there was such of a thing to keep moving forth to the District that would never forgive him for letting her die to the flames and burn to ashes.

* * *

**This is my new SYOT and hopefully I could break my commitment issues. Anyways, I hope all of you submit. I wish the best luck to all of you who are submitting to get in. Now, just a few questions:**

_**1.) What was your first impression of Atticus and/or Baudin? (Evil, good, etc.)**_

_**2.) Does the reason why the Games continued seem credible enough? (I kind of got lazy with it to get it over with.)**_

**That's pretty much all questions for now. So, the rules and form are on my profile, so yep. Other than that, may the odds be ever in your favor.**


	2. Main Attraction

_Nightmares_

_I do not own the Hunger Games_

_Chapter 2: Main Attraction_

* * *

"_**Nightmares are practically the main attraction when we doze off. They keep us sane and remind us that not everything is a fantasy."**_

* * *

**Atticus Gracchus – Head Gamemaker – (Flashback)**

He still remembers the time when he got back from the Games. People shouted cheers of glee, but he knew they were just playing up that card. You see, District Two is well known for the Victors they produce, so he was just another face in the book. That year was simply spectacular: he was rich, famous, and adored by many.

Atticus knows for a fact that they're lying about that.

They didn't adore or admire him in any way. He knows that because he was a low-life who's parents were plain, average stonemasons. His mother and father always try their best to manage Atticus's reckless behavior, and he appreciates that—he really does—but sometimes they try too hard. You see, they were leaning more and more on the "poor" side of average while the richest of the rich led lavish lifestyles and sent their children off to fancy training centers.

The Gracchus family? Sure, they didn't have any fancy equipment, but that didn't stop them from training their son for the Games if anything—anything—happens. Papa created stone pillars that swung from side to side as one of the training utensils. There, Atticus tested his agility, speed, and grace with the strip of black cloth, shielding his eyes. A couple of times it knocked him down, but his ambition was too high upon the normal level to quit.

A fighter he is.

Another thing was the wooden staff he would use to spar against his father. Again, they blindfolded him. With each swung he learned something new about his opponent: wear they step, how they defend, and how they attack. Tilting his head down seemed to help. That way, he wouldn't get any whacks to the face, bruising his cheeks and getting black eyes. Of course, he didn't mind if he was the one giving the lesson.

A teacher he is.

They taught him how to play games, too. Whether it was chess or checkers, he had high expectations of himself to win. The first few times, though, he flipped the game board one-too-many-times. When he was seven, he asked Papa, "What does this have to do with my training?" Papa smiled as he moved his bishop, looked him straight in the eye, and told him, "You'll see, son, soon you'll understand." That time Atticus won the match with overruling by capturing Papa's king.

A curious man he is.

It wasn't until his sixteenth birthday when Mama got a serious case of sickness. His uncontrollable cries were uttered when he sat by her bed and started to cuddle with her. His face was buried in her chest as she kissed his head. "Mama, are you going to be okay?" he asked her as he faced her sickly pale face. Mama only ran her nimble fingers through his mess of jet black hair and kissed his forehead. "Mama doesn't know, baby," she coughed out. He didn't stop crying that night.

The next day, he got his brilliant plan and told Papa. Extreme it was and a total risk, as well. When Papa heard of it he couldn't help but hold his son in his broad arms. "I can't," Papa said as Atticus continued to lay his head on his papa's shoulder.

"I have to. It's probably the only way to save Mama," he replied.

"Atticus, this is the biggest risk that you're going to take. Are you sure?"

"If it's to help Mama, then I'm sure."

"But I can't lose you. If you don't come back then you won't be here, and there's a huge possibility that Mama won't be here, either."

"Don't underestimate me, Papa. After all, you did teach me everything I know. I _know_ I could do this, Papa."

Papa looked into his soldier's eyes and told him, "No I haven't. Those kids at the training camps and centers have better training, son."

"So what if they do? I know I could do this. Just because I never had any formal training in my entire life doesn't mean that I'm not capable of winning, right?"

That's what stopped Papa. With that Atticus kept a straight face while Papa gave an almost non-existent smile. "I just don't want to lose you," Papa said as he wiped his tears with his sleeve.

A brave man he is.

* * *

It wasn't until the day he went to the advanced training center so that he could feel what it's like to actually be a career. It wasn't exactly a class since there were no teachers or any other students. There he stood alone in the dark room and with one flicker of the switch, the whole room lit up. It was definitely more fancier than what Atticus had at home and of course, more advanced.

With all the obstacle courses he tried, he realized that he wasn't cut out for any of them, leading to the point where he didn't feel like he could actually win the Games to support Mama and Papa.

Did he give up, though?

No.

It was proven; he certainly was a warrior.

* * *

Then the first day of summer came, alias the Reaping. Originally, Matthew Matterson, a burly eighteen-year-old that could crush anyone's skull, but Atticus managed to beat him to it. That action right there resulted with Matterson bitching about how Atticus wasn't supposed to be on stage.

"He's a fucking low-life! He's a spineless, pathetic kid! I mean, seriously? The guy's sixteen, for fuck's sake!" Matterson shouted as he got on the stage.

"I bet he won't even make it past the bloodbath!"

His "speech" caused everyone to cheer, but it was final:

"Atticus Gracchus will be our male tribute for the Four hundred sixty-eighth Hunger Games!" the escort piped with her overruling voice. Whenever someone gets in a scuffle to get into the Games, the choice is always left to the escort.

The insults rang out to Atticus and his family, making them more hated than ever. That's when he looked over to the escort—Milla—and read her expression: "You have potential. I could see it."

* * *

When the first day of training started, none of the Careers took him in. On the first day District Three wouldn't take him in.

Or District Five.

Or District Six.

Or District Seven.

Or District Eight.

Or District Nine.

Or District Ten.

Or District Eleven.

Or District Twelve.

No one took him, thus making him fight for himself and himself only. He learned that no one would actually care. He learned to hide his emotions from everyone. He learned how to control himself.

The only person there that was impressed by him was his mentor, Alexander Aurelius, who actually got the first pick. He almost felt like his father. Not exactly his papa, but his father. He pushed him and cared for him. Alexander believed in him and smacked some sense into him:

"Atticus, just because you're not in the Pack doesn't mean you're not amazing."

That boosted himself up and lifted him upon his feet.

* * *

Then, the day before the interviews came, which only meant one thing: training scores. Everyone came down to see the screening, but Atticus was no where to be seen. Everywhere they searched, but there was no luck until they stumbled upon his locked door to his room. "Hurry up, Gracchus, it's almost time!" his partner, Callista Dahl, yelled as she banged on his door. (They weren't even kidding when they said that Callista was a "doll".)

"I need to think. Just tell me all about it when it's over!" Atticus shouted as he peeled his sweaty t-shirt off, letting his upper half cool off. As of that, he plopped himself on the bed with his hands behind his head. Looking up at the ceiling, he glared with a burning passion. He glanced down at his neck to see the little, golden crucifix hanging on the chain. Without a second thought, Atticus took it off got a closer look at it and whispered, "Mama? Papa? Are you here?"

Suddenly, without him knowing, the door of his room barged open and Alexander came in and grabbed Atticus by the shoulders and shoved him up against the wall. Atticus blinked at the man, not knowing if the actions were out of rage or pride. "Did you know what you just did, son?" Alexander growled as the other came spilling into the room, trying to hold him back.

"What?" he asked, glaring.

"You just planted a full-on target on your back, son!"

"How?"

"Pick a number between one and twelve."

"Why?"

"Just do it, son!"

"Six."

"Good, now add six more to that. What number do you get?"

"Twelve, why?"

"That's your score, son!"

"I don't believe you."

Alexander then dropped Atticus, forcing him to fall on the floor. He rubbed his sore bottom while Alexander began to smile at him and spoke the five magic words:

"I'm so proud of you."

* * *

The interviews came soon enough for him, but it wasn't exactly the biggest highlight of his life. Pointless questions were thrown at him by reporters and "most importantly" Adonis Lucia, the host for all things Hunger Games. One by one he went through the tributes like he always does and when it came for Atticus, only an insurmountable amount of questions drove by:

"How does it feel to score a twelve? It must have been _ages_ since we've gotten one of those!"

"Is it true that there was a scuffle at the Reaping?"

"Did you know that the people of the Capitol say that you have the lowest Career district odds with a twenty-four to one?"

"Tell us, Atticus, what was your reason to volunteer?"

"Any special girl back home?"

He managed to get through all the questions, but stumbled on the second to last one by giving a short response of sickness and completely avoided the last one by changing the topic. All in all, he seemed alright with everything...

...but not exactly _everyone_.

* * *

The Games came by sooner than he thought he would. It was only five more minutes until it was time to go up in the Tube. In silence, he stood with Alexander. They stared at the wall together until the intercom announced: _"One minute until launch time."_

"It's almost time, isn't it?" Atticus asked Alexander as they gazed at the Tube.

"It is."

42.

41.

40.

"In your opinion, do you think I'll make it past the bloodbath?"

"Son, I know for a _fact_ that you're going to win."

29.

28.

27.

"I appreciate your words in such, but I think your lying to me. Somehow, you know."

"Listen, son. You're amazing. Don't underestimate yourself. You, son, are spectacular."

10.

9.

8,

"Thank you for everything."

"You're welcome, son. You're welcome."

3.

2.

1.

The clear, glass doors of the tube opened up with lights flashing around it. Eventually, Atticus proceeded on to his quest. Stepping into the Tube, he turned his back against the glass as it began to close up. Slowly, he turned around to see Alexander standing there with a stern face as he nodded his head. In return, Atticus did the same as he started up, into the arena.

* * *

The last thing he remembers is the District One male begging for mercy. Now, he's in a room with a crap load of nurses and doctors. They mumble all sorts of things that have happened, but he can't believe his ears.

They were actually congratulating him. They really were. It felt almost...unreal.

Then, that's when it struck him: he won. He won the Games and beat the odds. Atticus Gracchus was the Victor. He was _victorious_. It may not feel like it, but he is. He really is. With all the shit that the other tributes did to him, what his fellow citizens of District Two snarled, and everyone in the Capitol that doubted him, he has the right to say that he is victorious.

It was amazing.

Not the feeling of "amazing".

He didn't feel anything.

* * *

As soon as he came home, he went straight for home where Mama and Papa were. As soon as he came in, he saw Papa crying at the table. Atticus saw that Papa was attempting to smile, but failed as another rush of tears came down. "What happened? Where's Mama?" Atticus asked as he approached his papa. Without warning, the cries came faster and harder. "Papa, where's Mama?" this time he asked sternly as he weakly took another step forward.

Papa didn't say anything, but with the point of his index finger, he shot it up straight at the ceiling. That time, he couldn't help but extend his arms for his son. Atticus rushed to him and buried his face into Papa's chest. "What happened, Papa?" Atticus choked as he hyperventilates each word.

"She said th-tha-that she c-c-could-couldn't take it an-any-anymore. She told me to tell you that she's s-s-so-sorry," Papa stumbled as Atticus continued his cries. "I'm so sorry, Atticus."

That's when he realizes it. That's when Atticus Gracchus tears stopped completely. He wiped the salty tears from his eyes and said to his papa, "I'm sorry, too, Papa. I should've finished everything sooner. She could've still been alive if I came home sooner."

"It's not your fault, Atticus. You can't do everything or fix anything. It's best to leave this behind us."

That was the day Atticus Gracchus changed. He made promises and never broke them. He mended broken people and succeeded. He trained the less fortunate to show that everyone had the skills and heart of a Career in District Two.

He never cried again and shielded himself from all emotion as a promise to his deceased mama who never wanted to see her baby cry because of her and his deceased papa who taught him everything he knows and never wanted to let go of his son or wife.

Ever since then he brought tributes to hell and they came back with how he turned out to be:

_Victorious._

* * *

**This is probably the longest chapter I've written. This is basically what happened to our lovely Head Gamemaker, Atticus Gracchus. I hope his past isn't too Gary-Stu for all of you, I tried to made his life as miserable as possible with a miserable outcome. I guess you could put it like that.**

**As for the Games, I decided to cut it out since it would practically tell how I make the characters/tributes die. I have a certain killing method, and I don't want anyone catching on.**

**Anyways, I posted up a list for all of you to see the spots that have been taken and the ones that are open on my profile, so make sure to check that out! Also, keep those tributes coming!**

**Just a few questions:**

**1. _What do you think of Atticus now?__  
_**

**2. _Would his past be somewhat credible in the Hunger Games world?_**

**Remember, send tributes!**


	3. Reasons Why We Come and Go

_Nightmares_

_I do not own the Hunger Games_

_Chapter 3: Reasons Why We Come and Go_

* * *

**_"We come because we were lured over by the bait, but we go once we get trapped."_**

* * *

**Atticus Gracchus – Head Gamemaker**

In the grasp of his left hand is the Hunger Games. It may not have the Kill Bill, but it has every single detail for it for all he knows. From the horrid arena to the table-turning mutts, the portfolio is the probably the main key to the most _fabulous_ Hunger Games that has ever took place in Panem for all they care. Heck, it might even be better than _his_ participation in the Four-hundred-sixty-eighth Hunger Games.

No, it can't be possible. His Games are the main highlight in all of Panem's history (with the exception from the District Twelve tributes from the Seventy-fourth). Nothing could beat that.

Though, in his right hand's grip is an antique book with a dusty (and ripped) leather cover. Up close, it seems as though the spine wants to throw in the towel and fall apart on its own completely. Yellowing pages are no longer attached to the book, but is just stuck in its valued place. Those pages were either getting its print lost or is just plainly ripped straight down the middle with only tape to fix it—because, of course, tape _could_ fix anything.

_Well, any_thing_, not any_one.

He continues down the newly white-washed hallway with its sickly snow-colored tiles with slow, long strides. It seems too long though with the only color being plastered through four ways as the color of white. Then, Atticus pauses and thinks about it.

_What does the color 'white' mean? Purity? No, that could hardly be the answer. The Capiholics don't know the meaning of 'pure',_ Atticus wonders as he stares down the narrow pathway to Mr. President. Sharp, blue eyes continue to scan the way, and somehow find its way focusing on an open door. It is tantalizing, that's known for a fact.

All of a sudden Atticus witnesses himself standing in front of the opened door. Had he walked down all that way to get to the office? Had he had no mind to look where he was going? Did disturbia strike him and force him to march down? What exactly was he thinking?

"Well, are you going to invite me in or are you just going to keep sitting in that fucking chair and stare at me like some barbaric plebian?" Atticus growls as Baudin's eyes shoot wide open. With that, Baudin gestures for him to come in and sit down. After their little fiasco a couple weeks back, Baudin still gets what you could put as…well…_nightmares_. Coincidental? Well, this is Atticus we're talking about here.

He steps up and slides the portfolio toward the anxious, so-called president. What? He doesn't act like the leader. He submits to almost everybody. Well, _almost_. "This is the arena for this year?" Baudin asks as he slides his frameless glasses over his walnut colored eyes.

Atticus straightens up his posture and gives a slight cough. He then glares at Baudin and says, "Technically, it's _my_ arena, but call it whatever you please, Mr. President." Baudin opens up the portfolio and suddenly jumps back in a stunned matter. He (Atticus) snickers and smirks at the terrified president.

"What is it Mr. President? I don't think it's _that_ bad," he coldly says as he slams his leather-covered book on the table.

Baudin stumbles to get back in his cushioned chair and takes in a gulp of lemon water. Again, he scans the papers while his lower lip quivers silently. "Well, it's definitely…ah…_different_. Different and…ahem…scary—but in a good way," he croaks as his Head Gamemaker crosses his muscular arms over his chest.

"What are you implying, Mr. President?" the Victor asks as he begins to loosen up his muscles and examine his fingernails.

Baudin clears his throat. "What I'm _implying_, Mr. Gracchus, is that I like what you've got going on here," he says as he gets up from his seat to stare back at the skyline. "Don't disappoint me like the last Head did."

That's when Atticus's eyes shot open. Upon witnessing this, Baudin sickly smiles. _Somebody loves turning tables_, Atticus thinks as stress sweat trickles down his forehead. Without a second thought, Baudin approaches the frozen District Two citizen. They look in each others' eyes until Baudin turns away to chuckle horrifically. "What?" Atticus manages to stutter out.

The horrendous laughter eases as Baudin admits, "I know what you're thinking, Mr. Gracchus."

"What is it?"

"Don't act so clueless. You _know_ what I'm talking about."

"I'm dead serious, Baudin."

"Marcia."

Atticus turns to Baudin, angrily grabs him by the collar of his shirt, and shoves him to the nearest wall. To his silent surprise, Atticus notices that Baudin was fairly amused by his harsh actions. In an attempt to bring him back to his wimpy behavior, Atticus barks, "You will never—and I mean _never_—touch my daughter. _Never_, Baudin, _never_."

Baudin smiles again as Atticus shoves him back to his feet. He turns his back and goes back to the window slowly, enjoying Atticus's pain. "Tell me, Mr. Gracchus," he starts as the enraged Head hyperventilates, "why do you think I asked you to be the Head Gamemaker for this year?"

Atticus looks down to think, only to listen to the rest of Baudin's speech:

"You're that clueless aren't you?"—he reaches into his jacket's pocket to get out a lighter and cigarette—"You know how much we hate each other. Everyone knows how much we despise one another. So, you could cross out that I did it out of sheer generosity and get you even more fame. Because, obviously, you have enough already—_we don't need another oblivious Gamemaker_.

"But you see, Gracchus, I just can't get everything. I mean, yes I do have Kaitlin on _my_ side, but that isn't enough. You see, I believe that family is important. The only thing in the way, though, is _you_. It's bad enough that Kaitlin actually saw you as a potential suitor. Of all things—I mean _people_—she chose you. My sister, my sister, damnit! Then she saw my friend and left you, which, for the most part made me completely joyous, but you just had to keep Marcia.

"I understand that she has _your _crummy DNA, but she's still my niece."—he sticks the cigarette between his lips and lights it up—"I believe that you shouldn't have won the rights to keep her completely. She deserves to be where she belongs—"

With each word burning in his ear, Atticus rages out, "Shut the fuck up! Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!" He then grabs Baudin by his collar again. "You and that _little bitch and her fucking dog_ are just jealous! You have _everything_! _She's_ the only one I have _left_. Don't you even _fucking dare_ to take her away from me! I swear I will rip off your—"

That's when a tiny knock came on the door. The duo peeked at it and there it opened to reveal a little four-year-old little girl with a high ponytail of black hair and overly-lengthy bangs that covered her sweet blue eyes. "Daddy, are you almost done? I be tired. Really, really tired," she yawns as she slowly walked to Atticus. She then lifts her arms up and lightly demands, "Carry me, Daddy." He complies and allows her to rest her head on his broad shoulder.

The fire in his eyes still rage at Baudin, who quickly discards the cigarette at the sight of the child. Atticus then hushes to Baudin, "Take her, and I'll do exactly what I did to that District One guy to you, Baudin." With that, he scoops the book back into his grasp and exits down the hallway once more. He hears a slight gulp from the president and smirks.

"I'll check in with you next week, Mr. President," Atticus states as he continues to descend down the pathway with the tiny, sleeping child and book in hand.

* * *

"Read me book," she innocently demands as she snuggles closer to her father as they lay on their bed together. Her thin eyelashes bat as Atticus begins to grab the leather-covered book from the nightstand. Soon he begins to yawn, thus making Marcia imitate him. Upon the sight, he smiles and asks, "Mocking me, princess?" She returns a tired smile and says, "Nuh-uh."

"Yes you are."

"Nope."

"Yup."

"No, Daddy."

He sneaks a peek at her dead-serious face and gives in, "Fine, but is it necessary for you to win _all_ the time?" Marcia only nods and begins to bring up the sheets to cover herself. He then begins to open up the decrepit book and asks, "Which one?"

"Why were you and Uncle Davie yelling?" she changes the subject as she rubs her eyes. That stops him from flipping to the table of contents. "What do you mean?" he asks, attempting to avoid it. Marcia sits up and faces her father and yawns again.

"You two were screaming."

"And?"

"Why?"

He pauses for a second and replies, "He wants to make Daddy make mistakes. He's waiting for the perfect moment to come."

* * *

**That's probably the last chapter that has to do with Atticus for now. I hope this clears up on why he was chosen to be the Head Gamemaker. If you still don't get it let me explain everything:**

'_**Kaitlin is David's (who is known as 'Baudin' to all of you) sister. She had an affair with Atticus when they were eighteen or seventeen years old. When Marcia was born, they fought over who should have the full rights to keep her. Atticus ended up winning, thus infuriating David and Kaitlin. The only way that they could have the full rights for Marcia is if Atticus makes a mistake regarding the Games or parenting ways. Obviously, the bad parenting was out, so David has a plan to make Atticus the Head for the year. He's waiting for Atticus to mess up the Games so that David, Kaitlin, and her fiancée could have full rights to keep Marcia.'**_

**Hopefully, that clears everything up. **

**Now, this isn't exactly my best chapter, so…uh…yep.**

**As far as the SYOT goes, I still need more tributes!**

**Now that those things are done, I have some questions:**

**1. **_**Which do you like better: cowardly Baudin or table-turning Baudin?**_

**2. **_**Is the reason why Atticus is Head Gamemaker credible enough?**_

**3. **_**Marcia? Yay or nay?**_

**Other than that, submit a tribute and review!**


	4. Jealousy and Grand Events at Its Best

_Nightmares_

_I do not own the Hunger Games_

_Chapter 4: Jealousy and Grand Events at Its Best_

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"_**The grander the person and time, the grander the jealousy."**_

* * *

**David Baudin – President of Panem – (Flashback)**

The sight of the two of them together sickens him to the bone. That way they talk to each other, and that way they snuggle up on the couch only leads him to roll his eyes. He just can't bear to think of them as a couple. He can't see them get married. He can't see them have children together. He can't see them grow old to together. There is just something about the way look together. They are a complete mess.

He knows for a fact that his baby sister could do better. She's only seventeen, and there are a plethora of Capitol men that would love to be in a relationship with her. In his opinion, a District Two Victor isn't exactly his idea of the perfect suitor for his sweet little sister. David knows that Atticus is a mess, and he doesn't want Kaitlin to be brought into it.

There, the three of them sat at the mahogany table on the balcony, watching the sun go down. Dinner gets served and only silence is heard. Not a single peep is spoken of. Not one breath was heard. The only thing that seemed loud enough to hear is the sound of the champagne glasses and silverware coming in contact with the custom-crafted ceramic plates.

David faked a cough, loud enough to break the loud silence. "So, Mr. Gracchus," President Baudin starts, grabbing the Victor's attention, "How's Two going along?" His attempt at faking generosity causes Atticus to slightly glare and Kaitlin to immediately go back to the puny-proportioned plate in embarrassment.

Atticus fakes a smile and replies, "It's going great, if I must say. No trouble or corruption coming, if that's what you're implying." More silence comes, as of result.

After what seems like a billion has past, Kaitlin gets up from her seat and wipes her mouth with the white napkin. "Excuse me," she says with a choke, thus having her walk back into the mansion with uneasiness. Atticus and David look at each other with intense hatred and once Kaitlin is out of sight, the two get up and start their brawl.

It starts off with David putting Atticus into a hard headlock that constricts Attcius's neck, briefly cutting off his air until the Victor flips the President. With that, he starts to jab him with all of the anger that pent up inside of him. Their grunts are lowered and soon enough, David grabs a plate from the table and—

_Clunk!_

It breaks over his head with a feel of certainty that it would leave one hell of a mark. That doesn't stop Atticus, though. Even with the slight concussion he may be experiencing, he manages to grab one of the steak knives and forcefully swings at David's neck. He dodges the sharp blade with a turn of his head and gets out of Atticus's grip. With that, he reaches for the other knife but is stopped by the blade that is holding his cuff to the mahogany table.

"Now I see why mahogany is out of fashion," he grumbles as he tries to yank the knife.

Without him noticing it, Atticus grabs another knife and puts it under the President's neck. David winces, but gets the knife out in time.

"You're just mad because she loves me more than you," Atticus threatens, gripping the knife tighter and pulling it closer to come in contact with the flesh.

"She doesn't. I'm her brother; she'll _always_ love me more than a _scumbag like you_," Daivd hisses, getting out of the Victor's grasp.

Before they could lunge at each other with their knives, Kaitlin prances in with a grin, only to have it turned upside down. Daggers fly through her eyes at the sight, and eventually, she harshly took both the knives from the two men—ahem—I mean, _children_. Sighing, she launches them off the balcony and somewhere in the Capitol is the tone of a grown man panicking: "My eye! My beautiful eye!"

Soon enough, Kaitlin speaks, "I leave for five minutes and the two of you come at each other like barbarians? I'm so disappointed in you two." She keeps her glares on the two. "And for once I thought that I could bring my boyfriend home without a total _battle royale_ breaking up on the balcony!"

Cautiously, the two approach until she snaps again, "Don't you dare touch me!" They pulled back in defeat as she stomps back inside the building with a few swears in hand. As they watch, the two face each other and yell in unison, "This is all your fault!"

Taken aback, Atticus says, "Me? This is _my_ fault? It all started when _you_ tackled _me_ to the ground!"

"You were the one who brought the knives into the picture!" David counters back.

"Well, you were the one who broke the plate over my head!"

"I had every right to!"

"How?" Atticus snarls.

"I'm the motherfucking President of Panem!"

"That card again? Psh, how _immature_ of you."

"Says the one who-"

David gets cut off, and the mansion's butler steps in between the bickering duo. "Sorry for her yelling, she's been having a rough time lately," he says as they both narrowed their eyes.

"Why? Is she on her period or something? Believe me, she gets all riled up when she's on it," David rants.

The butler freezes and gives a warm smile to the two of them. "Mmm...quite the opposite if you ask me, gentlemen."

The two pause to look at each other, and Atticus asks, "What do you mean by 'the opposite'?"

The butler chuckles at the oblivious two and replies, "Why don't you go ask her for yourself?"

* * *

"Come again, Kay?"

"Atticus, don't make me slap you. I'm too frustrated to talk right now."

"It's just that, it's great!"

"I'm warning you, Atticus. Don't lie to me by telling me that you still love me."

"But it's amazing, Kay! I can't believe it!"

"I have no idea why you're not brooding like you always are. Is it because Dave fainted or because of my belly?"

"Both. It's the complete package!"

She looks down at her folded hands and starts to weep. She's too young, in her opinion. Certainly, her mother and father wouldn't approve; she's only seventeen! A sigh escapes Kaitlin's lips, and Atticus kneels in front of her and gently kisses her forehead. "Why are you crying, Kay?"he asks.

She slows her cries and says with an attempted smile, "Maybe it's just the hormones."

"It's more than that, isn't it?"

She starts to bawl again.

"C'mon, you could tell me, Kay. You can trust me."

Kaitlin grabs a tissue paper and asks, "You still love me?"

He smiles. "Of course I do."

"You're lying."

"No, I'm not."

"I'm scared," she shifts the conversation.

Atticus wipes a single tear from her eye while their foreheads touch. "How so? Enlighten me."

"I'm too young for this, Atticus! I'm going to be a terrible mother!"

"No you won't. Wanna know why?"

"Why?"

"Because," he starts, "I'm going to be with you forever and always."

They embrace, completely forgetting about the unconscious David on the tiled floor. Soon, the President's head lifts up to catch the scene of his sister and enemy cuddling together on the toilet, sucking each others' face off like there's no tomorrow. "Ugh, love," David grumbles, "I hate it."

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**So, I decided there should be FIVE chapter before the real thing! Well, mainly because I'm desperate for more people to come to submit a tribute and...yeah...that's the main reason. Anyways, how do you like the change up from Atticus to Baudin? I like the transition, but I don't think this chapter is good enough.**

**Anyways, a couple of questions:**

**1. _Do you like the transition?_**

**2. _Do you guys want to tell more people about Nightmares? (coughcoughcoughDESPERATEcoughcoughcough)_**

**Other than that, SPREAD THE WORD!**

**(Huddles in the corner to cry)**


	5. Don't Take My Sunshine Away

_Nightmares_

_I do not own the Hunger Games_

_Chapter 5: Don't Take My Sunshine Away_

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"_**They can take anything they want, but what can't have is my ray of sunshine."**_

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**David Baudin – President of Panem**

"Uncle Davie?"

"Mmm…yes, Marcie?"

"Why do you and Daddy hate each other?"

He halts his steps and crouches down to reach the four-year-old's height. Then, he slips his hand into her's and gently pecks her forehead. His hopes to think that she'll forget about their previous conversation backfired when she began to tilt her head and narrow her chilling blue eyes. "You didn't answer my question, Uncle Davie. Why do you two hate each other?" she scoffs, flipping her bangs from her eyelids.

David slightly coughs and purses his lips together. His debates of whether or not he should vent about his problems to his niece almost went completely out of the picture. Though, now that he thinks of it, she could really be a fairly good therapist. It's almost like that one time when—

Marcia snaps her fingers and firmly plants her tiny hands on her hips. "You still haven't answered my question, and I'll have you know that I have a terrible temper when I have to be patient at moments like this, Uncle Davie," she calmly warns. Her blinks only seem to make him even more apprehensive to answer. It wasn't that he wants to crush her feelings; it's the fact that she'll probably hate him forever.

"Ah…well…Marcie…it's complicated," the President stumbles to his niece. She only tightened up her glare, making it seem as if it were to be a permanent feature.

Then, she softens up and soon becomes solemn. _Now I can see the Atticus inside of her_, David thinks to himself at the sight of the emotionless, manipulative little girl, _how could someone play a role that well_? Marcia smirks at the awestruck President and says, "I like complicated."

His eyes widen as he gulps hard. He then sees Marcia turn so that her back is facing him and crosses her arms over her chest. "Now I can see what Daddy meant," she says. Shaking his head in confusion, he knits his eyebrows together. "Marcie," David starts as he gently lays his right hand on her shoulder, "What do you mean by that?" She only smiles in a response. That's when he realizes one thing:

_He's in the trap now._

Again, she tilts her head to the side and faked innocence, "Well, I don't think I tell you if you don't tell me. After all, Uncle Davie, I believe in the saying: an eye for an eye. Do you know that thing? I like that thingy." The President widens his eyes again and sighs, turning his head to the left to avoid the manipulative gaze.

_Yep, she spends too much time with Atticus._

"Is it necessary for you to win all the time, Marcie?"

"Of course," she flips her hair, "it's only fair, Uncle Davie."

He stands back up and smiles with a sigh. As he adjusts his tie, they descend down the hallway once more. That's when he notices the walls. The whiteness of the white walls. The mess of pure white. "White doesn't really fit, doesn't it Marcie?" David asks the young girl. They continue to stroll.

"Too bright and ugly," she replies.

Man, how she's too right about that.

* * *

An hour before dinnertime, David soon finds himself trapped on a mini pastel pink chair with a beaten up teddy bear dubbed "Fidelis" to his right and a dirty, dusty bunny with the name of "Semper" to his left. On top of that is a table in front with the same color scheme with a complete tea set sitting on it.

If there's a downside to having Marcia staying over for the week, it would be the treacherous tea parties she would set. Last time, he, Kaitlin, and her soon-to-be husband Ryker were stuck in the same situation due to the…ahem…_accident _of having Semper and Fidelis getting "too dirty", so they had to get "washed" by Atticus. Now, although the party itself is a complete nightmare, David has to admit that Marcia is actually capable of preparing tea and laying out the store-bought cookies on the ceramic plates.

"More tea, Uncle Davie?" she asks, holding up the teapot in her hand.

He attempts to wedge the seat off of his bottom cheeks again with no luck. "Of course," David sighs as he picks shoves another oatmeal cookie in his mouth. As she pours the lemon tea in the tiny cup, the sound of the doorbell rings.

"Daddy's here!" the four-year-old exclaims, causing the clumsy President to spill the hot liquid on his khaki-colored pants. As of result, he groans and hisses, clutching the spot where the tea hit. Instead of helping out her pained presidential uncle, Marcia races out the door like a stallion.

David manages to grab the cloth napkin on the table and cover his lower half. In relief, he bangs his head on the table and emits a deep groan. "Now I can see why having the napkin on your lap is more efficient than getting tied around your neck," he growls.

To him, it's obvious. It may be a fact that Marcia loves her father more than she'll ever love him, Kaitlin, or Ryker. Then again, if she was raised in the mansion for her whole four years of life, would it be turned around? After all, they only get to see each other once a week every season. For David, it reminds him of an old tale of the daughter of a goddess of agriculture and the lonely god of the underworld. Except, well, without the whole kidnapping and getting Marcia to stay for two months instead of a week.

Either way he feels, David knows that Atticus has been cheating for all of those four years.

Before he could wedge himself off of the chair once more, Atticus waltzes in with Marcia at his side along with a device around his neck. David squints at it until he realizes—

"Smile for the camera, Mr. President," Atticus says with a sly smirk sitting upon his face.

After all, David Baudin isn't exactly the luckiest man in the world.

* * *

**So…how was it? I know that it's shorter than the rest of the other chapters, but it still works, does it?**

**Anyways, I'm hoping that this chapter will bring home the bacon. Uh…err…the sunshine…my ray of sunshine? Sorry if I offended any vegans or vegetarians out there with the whole bacon…pigs…uh…farms. In translation, I'm hoping that this chapter will reel in the rest of the tributes. 'Cause, you know, I'm desperate.**

**I just wanted to say thank you to the people who suggested to other people this SYOT! I think I forgot to respond to one of you…um…let me think…**

**Oh yeah!**

**Dear **_**PenMagic**_**,**

**I think I forgot to tell you how grateful I am for your support! Therefore, you shall be the main attraction of the whole mentioning ceremony! Well, not exactly a ceremony…but still! Thank you so much! Would you like a cookie? I have a lot of cookies.**

**From, that-peasant-named-**_**ShootingforWishingStars**_

**Now, I have some questions!**

**1.) **_**Team Atticus or Team David/Baudin? **_**(To be honest, I'm indecisive since I'm starting to actually like David.)**

**2.) **_**Do you like tea parties? **_**(Personally, when I was little, I had my own little tea set and thought I lost it one day, but I found it again...this chapter is kind of dedicated to it…hehehe.)**

**3.) **_**Are you excited for the Tribute/Capitol chapters to come? **_**(I have decided that there will be one long chapter for the Reaping/day-in-general and the rest of the four are Capitol chapters.)**

**Whoa…long note. Anyways, let's keep our fingers crossed in hopes of receiving the last eight tributes! Also, be sure to keep an eye out for the blog since the official tributes will be noted there when I get all of them.**

**Be sure to continue spreading the word and review!**

**(P.S. Whoever guesses why and who named Marcia's stuffed rabbit "Semper" and the teddy bear "Fidelis" correctly will get a special surprise later on!)**


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